


Flaws and All

by Effyeahzimbits



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Eric Bittle - Freeform, Fluff, Jack Zimmermann - Freeform, M/M, Omgcheckplease - Freeform, Self Confidence, Self Confidence Issues, checkplease, omgcp - Freeform, supporting boyfriends, zimbits - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:16:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Effyeahzimbits/pseuds/Effyeahzimbits
Summary: Jack receives the images for his first ESPN body issue, and something doesn’t sit quite right with him.





	

Jack is sitting on the couch when it happens. He’s watching a documentary on the History channel that he’s seen a dozen times before, and more of his attention is on watching Bitty struggle through his French homework. His boyfriend is making many exaggerated groans and sighs of frustration, but Jack refuses to help. So he just watches with an amused smile until the moment Bitty will fling his pen down and announce he’s finished.

Except Jack’s phone pings with an email before that even happens. He leans forward and swipes it off the coffee table, noting with mild interest that it’s from Annie at PR. He shifts back, crossing his long legs underneath him again, and swipes it open. He reads it in silence. It’s only a short email, but by the end of it, his fingers are trembling. 

“Bits,” His voice shakes a little, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Bits. They’re here. The pictures.”

Bitty lifts his head from his stupid homework. It takes a moment for him to understand what it is Jack means. And then he remembers their discussion from the night before. He unfolds himself from his kneeling position at the coffee table, and climbs onto the sofa beside his boyfriend, tucking his legs underneath him and sitting so close their thighs press together.

“You don’t have to open them right now, Jack,” Bitty tells him in a calm, firm voice. His hand places itself on Jack’s knee, gives a reassuring squeeze. “You can do this later.”

Jack hesitates, his thumb hovering over the keys. He wants to delete the email, delete it and pretend it was never sent. But he knows that would be silly. Annie would simply email him again, or give him a phone call. It will be better to get it over and done with. 

He takes a deep breath, letting the air fill in his lungs and then exhaling slowly and carefully. He has full control over these. If he didn’t like them, or if he changed his mind, he could tell Annie and she’d pull the publication. He clings to that knowledge, uses it to chase away the niggling anxiety creeping through his fingertips. 

He’d been terrified, the day of the shoot. He very nearly didn’t go, too petrified of taking off his clothes and baring all to a complete stranger. He’d never had a positive relationship with his body, still sees the chubby teenager he’d once been whenever he looks in the mirror. But his mother had gently coaxed him into it, thinking it might help repair some of that damage. And Bitty had been nothing but loving and supporting. So he’d forced himself through the door.

And he’d left actually feeling exhilarated. The photographer had been nothing but professional, encouraging him with praise and knowing all of the tricks that would put him at ease. The first couple of shots had been terribly awkward, blurred at the edges where he was shaking with nerves. But a few minutes later, he started enjoying being on the other side of the lens. He felt warm under the lights, found himself laughing quietly at something the assistant had said, and gradually the nerves faded away. He walked out of the door feeling good about himself, and Bitty certainly knew about it that night, much to his delight. 

But that had been two weeks ago. Fourteen whole days for Jack to forget that feeling of self worth, and for the doubt to sink in. He had convinced himself that the images will be terrible, that he was going to see that chubby, awkward teenager gazing back at him. He can reject them, he tells himself again. He can say no. 

He opens up the attachment.

It only takes a second for them to load, minimised on his small screen. He taps one to blow it up, and his breath catches in his throat just as his heart thuds against his chest. If Bitty wasn’t sitting next to him, he thinks he might throw up. He hears Bitty gasp in his ear, and it helps Jack ground himself.

It’s in black and white. He sits on a low bench, hunched forward to tie the laces on his skates. One knee is pressed to his chest, the other bent and relaxed, and he is looking off camera with an intense look on his face. He doesn’t wear a shred of clothing. The line of his back is smooth and defined, stark against the dark background, and curves round into his ass and the thick, powerful muscle of his thigh. 

He doesn’t expect to like it. It’s an odd feeling, he thinks as he scrutinises himself. He looks attractive, he finally decides, and that’s a startling realisation. He likes the determination in his eyes, the flop of his dark hair against his pale forehead, the sinewy definition of his bicep and forearm as he grips the laces. His skin looks flawless, there isn’t a mark in sight, just an endless expanse of snowy whiteness.

Wait.

Jack frowns and tilts his head, his ears deaf to Bitty telling him how gorgeous he looks. This isn’t right. His fingertips hover over the screen, then caress the glass, zooming in on his perfect thigh. Not a single stretch mark or scar in sight. His brow furrows even further and he zooms out again, looking at every inch of him in detail.

He starts to see how heavily edited the image is. There are no lines under his eyes, no scars on his knees from the biking accident he had in the fifth grade, no silvery lines along his hips and thighs. He looks perfect, and that feels very, very wrong.

“Jack?” Bitty ventures delicately. He drags his eyes away from Jack’s phone, his hand now tenderly touching his boyfriend’s hand instead of his knee. “Are you alright?”

For a moment, Jack can’t form words. He shakes his head, annoyance starting to swell in his chest. He should be happy, he thinks, that he looks so good. But he just tastes a bitterness in his mouth. Every physical flaw he has has been erased, and that doesn’t sit well with him. So many conflicting thoughts flicker through his head. It goes against everything his mother, his therapist, Bitty, had ever taught him about learning to love how he looks, including the bad things. 

“I don’t...this is…” Jack’s words get stuck in his throat, but Bitty waits patiently for him to push through the block. He clears his throat and tries again. “I don’t like it. It’s too...perfect. They edited out everything.” 

He taps off the image and pulls up the next one, another nude shot, displaying more of his broad chest this time, a smattering of coarse, dark curls on his pecs. Again, it is too perfect. As is the next one, and the one after that. Five images of a stunningly flawless Jack, except it isn’t Jack, not at all.

He should be pleased. He should be pleased that he looks so beautiful, and that the whole world is going to see him this way. But he knows that this is wrong. It’s taken him a long time to become even remotely comfortable with his imperfections, and accepting these images would feel like a step back.

This is common practice in the media, Jack knows this. When he was young, Jack’s image was printed, unedited and without his or his mother’s permission, so many times. The articles would rip him and her to shreds for his weight, his face, his choice in clothes. And then when he dropped the weight, grew into himself and turned eighteen, it was like the chubby, awkward kid should be thankful that puberty treated him so well. In the media’s eyes, he was suddenly slim, attractive, sexy even (even if his fashion sense still left something to be desired). And, at twenty six, Jack is tired of it now. 

“I’m refusing,” He says, in a voice so firm it surprises himself. “I’m not letting them print these. It isn’t fair. Not to me or...or to all those kids out there who think there’s something wrong with them if they aren’t ‘attractive’.” He spits out the word, and angrily taps of the images. 

Bitty’s smile is warm and proud, and the hand on Jack’s hand moves to rub reassuring circles on his back instead. The images are nice, but he prefers the real Jack sat next to him, flaws and all. 

“Do whatever you think is best, sweet pea.” Bitty assures him in a voice like molten sugar. 

Jack's fingers hover over the keys of his phone, trying to think of how to compose the email politely but firmly. He wants to make sure these images are deleted and they never ask him to do a shoot again. But he hesitates, frowning at the small screen. He’d liked doing the shoot, and he’d felt really good about himself afterwards. No, the real problem is the photographs.

He chews on his lip, the cogs turning like crazy in his brain. It’s an odd idea, and he’s not sure the magazine would even agree to it, and the thought positively terrifies him. But he keeps thinking about how hurt he used to feel when he read the words in those magazines as a boy. Keeps thinking about all of those children and young people that look like he used to and how worthless they might feel if they saw these images and those like them.

He ends up composing a very different email.

A month later he returns to his flat from his regular morning practice to find a thick, brown envelope sat in the middle of his dining table. Bitty glances up from doing the dishes, and instantly stops, turns and dries his hands. They both know what the package is. 

“You don’t have to open it right now, Jack,” Bitty tells him softly, echoing his words from four weeks ago. It reminds Jack to pause and assess his feelings and thoughts for a moment before proceeding, the way it’s supposed to. “You can do it later.”

But Jack finds he wants to. He’s been waiting eagerly for this since his proposal was finally agreed to. He’s still absolutely terrified, but he’s excited too. He never expected the company to say yes, and Falconers PR were one hundred percent behind him. He’s starting to believe Georgia when she says they have his back no matter what. 

“No, it’s fine. I want to.” 

Jack reaches the table the same time Bitty does, and the smaller boy steps close, lays a gentle hand on the small of Jack’s back. Jack takes the envelope, and is surprised when his hands don’t shake. But then again, he’s certain that what he’s done is something good. He slides his fingers underneath the flap and tears it open.

Inside is a glossy, thick magazine, with ESPN’s logo emblazoned upon the front. He briefly acknowledges the fully clothed image of himself on the cover, but he’s seen ones like that a million times before. Instead he flicks through until he finds the feature of himself, and his breath catches in his throat. 

“Oh honey.” Bits breathes beside him, and the hand on his back presses that little bit tighter.

Jack’s chest swells and he actually lets out a relieved laugh, the tension rolling off his shoulders. He holds the magazine with one hand, supporting the spine in his palm, and runs the pads of his fingertips over the page. He enjoys the satin feel of them, the new, chemical smell, but most of all, he enjoys the look of them, enjoys reading his own words in black and white. 

“You’re so brave, sweetheart.” Bitty gushes beside him, pressing feather kisses to his bicep. 

Jack stays quiet for a moment, studying every single image of himself. They’re the same ones as before, but completely unedited. There are lines underneath his eyes, there are puckered biking accident scars on his knees, and there are silvery, jagged lines littering his hips, his thighs, his inner biceps. Every single one of them, not a mark was missing. And he can’t be happier about it. Each one of them is proof that he fought through something difficult, and stood tall on the other side. Proof that he’ll do it again. 

There will be negative comments, and scorning remarks, when the magazine is released for sale, and he knows this. But he knows he doesn’t care either. Because he’s doing this for that eleven year old kid who read horrible headlines about himself in celebrity gossip magazines all those years ago. And he’s doing it for all of the other kids and the adults also, who look at a perfect model and feel like they aren’t good enough. Because they are, and he is too.

“It’s not about being brave,” Jack replies softly, repeating his own words that are printed in front of him. “It’s about showing people how important it is to appreciate every part of ourselves, flaws and all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Short drabble exploring Jack's feelings around his first issue. I considered the fact that he might have self harm scars too, but eventually decided to leave them out. The reference pic I used to describe Jack's pose is of the gorgeous Ryan Kennedy and can be found here: http://www.malemodelscene.net/wp-content/gallery/052012/ryan-kennedy-porsche-design-sport-05.jpg
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as effyeahzimbits. Thank you for reading!


End file.
